A/N: I haven't forgotten this story. I'm working on clearing my fic decks, so look for this to be updated fairly regularly over the next bunch of weeks. Thanks for hanging out and waiting for me. I neglected to mention, in the first chapter, that all the song lyrics in this fic are courtesy of the Indigo Girls. Their music was the shining beacon of my teenage years, and while I hate to use it in a fic with so much angst, their words really frame this story well. At the end of the fic, I'll post a list of the songs I use here.

we act empty and innocent but we are fueled by distortions, of lives led in discontent trading misfortunes

"Where were you tonight?" Tina rested her head against Mike's chest, and pulled her blanket up over them both; she felt really lucky, that her parents trusted her to have Mike in her room. That they trusted Miketo be in her room.

But her parents also knew that they'd been having sex since the summer; her mom had even taken her to buy condoms, before the first time, and they talked all the time about how things were going, especially now that graduation and Mike leaving were coming up so fast.

Her mom even knew about Lucy, about Tina being bi. Compared to the sex talk, thatadmission had been easy.

Mike sighed under her ear. He felt . . . fragile, like something had happened before he'd shown up on her doorstep. "I was out. With Kurt and Blaine."

"Are they okay? They both seemed pretty wrecked."

"Yeah," Mike choked out. "I don't think Mr. Schue's thing helped at all."

Tina slid out from under his arm and sat up, tucking her legs under her. She leveled him with a stare. "I don't think Mr. Schue's thing helped youat all. What's going on? Why were you out with Kurt and Blaine?"

"Kurt thought it might be easier, if we all had a chance to talk outside of school. Be supportive of each other, because we all understand."

Tina tried to pick up the loose ends of what Mike wasn'tsaying. "Understand why Dave tried, you mean."

"Yeah."

"Because . . . because you tried?" She was shaking, scared about this part of Mike she'd never known about, but she hadto know now.

Mike shook his head. "I never tried," he whispered, "but I thought about it a lot. Before you."

"How did I change things?" Tina needed to know like she needed air, because she never felt like anything particularly special. She was just a weird girl who sometimes got stuck all up inside herself, who sometimes went quiet and lonely even in a room full of people.

"You never needed me to be anything. You just wanted me to be me." Mike pulled her back down against him, and she snuggled in with a happy sigh.

"Do you want to tell me about the boy? The one you love?" There would be plenty of time to talk about the other stuff; Tina wanted a happy story, tonight.

"Only if you tell me about the girl youlove." Tina felt a blush rise on her cheeks.

"I don't know if I loveLucy," she said. "I mean, we only kissed once."

Mike poked her in her ribs, that spot he knewmade her collapse on herself with giggles. "Sometimes once is all it takes," he said, once she'd stopped laughing. "His name is Tony, and he's a dancer."

Tina was leaning against his locker when he got there, arms crossed in front of her chest and a serious look on her face.

"T," he said, reaching out to hug her.

"I want in," she said, hugging back.

"In on . . . what, exactly?" Because he didn't know how much Mike had talked about anything with Tina last night. All he knew was that he'd slept like shit, and ended up spending half the night on the phone with Blaine, because he couldn't get Dave out of his head.

"Whatever your secret little group is that broke my boyfriend."

"We didn't- I mean-"

"I'm teasing, dork." She bumped him with her shoulder. "You didn't break him, but I still want in."

Kurt tilted his head at her, and looked at her hard. "I'm sorry," he said after a long moment. "If I'd realized, I'd have invited you last night."

But Tina just shook her head. "I haven't- I mean, I never thoughtabout it, not like you guys."

Kurt leaned back against the locker next to his. "He told you."

"He told me about himself.Everything that he told you guys last night, and probably some things he didn't." Tina reached out and patted Kurt on his forearm, her touch warm over his shirt sleeve. "I may have never thought about it, but I know what it feels like to feel lost, Kurt. And I want in on whatever you guys are doing."

"It's just talking, really. We'll be at Blaine's tonight, his parents will be down in Columbus for some benefit. Just-"

Tina squeezed his arm, and nodded knowingly. "I won't say a word," she whispered. "Thank you."

Something about the look on her face made Kurt wrap her up in another hug. "You're welcome."

Blaine made a cake when he got home from school. He knew it was only Kurt and Mike (and Tina,Kurt had whispered in the hall after Glee), but he always felt like baking when he was freaking out, and he really needed to keep busy or he thought he might implode. So he pulled out his mother's old Betty Crocker cookbook, and flipped through the pages to the cake section. He loved the old-fashioned 1950's pencil drawings of perfect desserts and perfect housewives, and the helpful hints and serving suggestions. He loved that this was a cookbook that had been used and loved, not just by his mother, but by his aunt and his grandmother as well.

He thought about making a simple cake, chocolate or vanilla, but when he started digging in the freezer for the unsalted butter, a bag of frozen peach slices fell onto his toe. He'd sliced and peeled them back in the fall, juice running down his hands, thinking of pie in December. But Christmas had been a patented Anderson family fiasco, and he'd gradually started spending more and more time at Kurt's house. The peaches stayed in the freezer, the cookbook sat on the shelf over the counter.

And Blaine had stopped itching to bake.

Then Miss Pillsbury had pulled Kurt out of second period the day before, and when he'd come back to class his hands were shaking and he looked pale and shattered, and Blaine had almostgrabbed his backpack and run to the home ec room, just to lose himself in the scent of baking butter and sugar.

Instead, he'd waited until the bell and pulled Kurt into the empty choir room, and spent all of third period holding him, telling him it wasn't his fault,he couldn't have done anything. That they hadn't failed Dave.

But Blaine knew the truth; they hadfailed Dave. Blaine had done it himself that day last year when he had cornered Dave in the stairwell, and every time he'd held Kurt's arm just a little tighter and steered him a little further away from Dave. Because Kurt may have forgiven him, may have trusted him, may have even started to think of him as a friend, but Blaine was never going to see Dave as anything but a terrified, closeted bully. He had failed Dave, and he kind of hated himself for it.

He tossed the peaches into the microwave to thaw, and just stared at the turntable going around and around.

He hated feeling like a failure.

When the microwave beeped, he pulled the bag out and drained the peaches before setting butter and sugar on low in the mixer.

Apparently it didn't matter whohe'd failed. Dave, his father. Himself. He was never going to be anything more than a world-class fuck-up. Failure extraordinaire. Some days he wondered how and why Kurt never seemed to see him that way. Maybe he just hid himself well enough that it didn't matter.

Either way, there was no way to fix it. He just had to find a way forward. And today, it was going to be with a peach coffee cake.

Kurt was early, like always. Blaine was setting out plates and coffee cups, exactly the same way his mother did when she hosted Junior League, and he had to shake his head at a slightly startling visual of himself, fully grown and playing society househusband. It was . . . frightening, in part because that wasn't anything he wanted for himself and yet, he couldn't help feeling like it was the one thing he'd be really good at. He kept working, eyes down, fanning napkins on the table and arranging the silverware from tall knives to short teaspoons.

He laughed bitterly to himself as he heard Kurt open the back door; he was always a disappointment to his father, but maybe now at least he'd manage to please his mother.

"Hey," Kurt said, padding over to him after leaving his shoes on the mat by the door. "What's this? Smells really good."

"Coffee cake. I needed . . ." Blaine waved his hand in the air. "Had to get out of my head." Kurt's arms were warm and firm around his waist and Kurt's body felt so good pressed against his back. Even though the kitchen was still warm from the heat of the oven, Blaine found that he was shivering.

"What's wrong, Blaine?" Kurt's voice was soft and tender, but questioning in a way that made Blaine feel entirely too exposed.

"N-nothing." Blaine tapped at the bottom of the knives to line them up, even though they were just fine.

Kurt's hand was firm on his wrist. "Hey. Blaine. Lookat me."

He let Kurt turn him so they were facing, and Blaine didn't have to look to know that Kurt was all clucking and sympathetic. "Okay. It's okay. Whatever's going on. It's . . ."

"No," Blaine shook his head. "It's not okay. It's not going to be okay, because what's wrong is me."

He wanted to fight against Kurt's arms, his gentle voice, the soothing way he was talking and the motion of his hand up and down the length of Blaine's back, but the comfort felt too good. Letting gofelt too good.

"You're not wrong, Blaine." Kurt sounded so sure, so confident. "You're just right."

"You've been here before," Tina said as Mike navigated the maze of streets into Blaine's subdivision. "I didn't realize."

Mike shrugged. "He's one of the guys. We take turns, hosting game night." Mike didn't tell Tina that the only nights Blaine wentto game nights were when it was his turn to host, or that Mike only went when it was his own turn or Blaine's.

"Right. Gamenight. Is that like 'makeover' night?" Tina laughed lightly.

"An excuse to eat snacks and complain about our significant others, you mean?" Mike was under no illusions about makeovers actually happening at makeover night, because at best Tina showed up at school the next day with only one hands' worth of fingers sloppily covered in blue or black polish.

Tina turned in her seat to look at him. "Don't tell the others I spilled the beans. We should all be allowed our illusions."

"No worries. My lips are sealed." He turned onto Blaine's street, and Tina sat up.

"Nice houses."

"Yeah," Mike sighed. "It comes at a price, though."

"What do you mean?" Tina peered at him quizzically as he pulled into the Anderson's generous driveway behind Blaine's station wagon.

"You'll see," Mike said softly, turning off the car and moving quickly to get over to Tina's door before she could open it. "Here," he said, pulling the door open and holding out his hand for her.

She smiled at him. He loved how fiercely and freely she loved him, and how unafraid she was of showing her affections in public. Mike sometimes felt like he'd never catch up to her there, that he'd always struggle with how to be anything even close to open about anythingin his life.

He knocked on the front door, and held Tina close while they waited for Blaine to answer the door.

But Kurt opened it instead. "Hey," he said softly. "C'mon. We're in the kitchen."

"Everything okay?" Tina put her hand on Kurt's arm, and he shook his head at her.

"No, but I'll let Blaine explain. He's got a lot of story to tell."